


oh i get by (with a little help)

by chocobos



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst Lite, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, this is very tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-01 09:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocobos/pseuds/chocobos
Summary: “It’s… one of those days. Where everything seems to go wrong and suddenly everything’s exploding out of control. The world can be so loud, Iggy.”





	oh i get by (with a little help)

**Author's Note:**

> back with a new fic finally! this fic fought me in some areas, and it definitely has a different tone to my other fics. i wanted to try something new. overall, i'm pretty happy with how this turned out!
> 
> also, this is my first (explicit) mention of trans prompto. i didn't want it to be a focal point of the story, so it's mentioned in passing, but as a trans dude myself, i figured it was about time i made it readily apparent. admittedly, i'm pretty nervous about this!! 
> 
> thanks to @stripperanakin for betaing this for me <3 
> 
> please let me know what you think!!!!!!!!!!!

Prompto’s having a rough day.

He wouldn’t go as far as to call it the worst day ever, but it’s pretty damn close. They’ve been doing hunt after hunt today, and they did hunt after hunt yesterday, and the day before that, and so on. It’s been an endless stream of hunts lately. He can practically _taste_ the exhaustion rattling his bones. To make matters worse, they’ve all been on edge; they haven’t slept in a proper bed in weeks, and Prompto can feel old and new bruises alike screaming at him every time he lays down on the cold, hard haven at night.

The worst of it, though, is when he loses his foot and slips, ending up underneath a voretooth during one of the hunts. There’s nothing that could make him forget the way it felt when those teeth sunk into him. Whenever he so much as shifts, now, he can feel them in him like they never left. He snuck off after the fight, saying he wanted to grab some pictures and threw on a bandage (a bandana) and called it a day. He'll tackle actually cleaning it out when they get back to camp. 

Prompto should ask for a potion or something, probably. But, he never does get around to telling the guys he's even injured in the first place. Every time he thinks about bringing it up, it all seems to trivial to mention that, hey, back there, you know, with the voretooths, one totally took out a chunk of my shoulder, no big deal.

In the end, it’s easier to handle this on his own. It always has been.

He doesn't want yet another curative to go to waste on him -- he's used three this week already; it's no one's fault but his own that he's so clumsy. 

So, he endures it by himself, and when Ignis asks him why he’s walking slower than usual, Prompto blames it on it being so long since they’ve seen a bed.

Ignis doesn’t look like he believes him, but he doesn’t push.

Or, at least, he doesn’t push until they get to the haven that night.

  
  
  
  


-☆-

  
  


 

Prompto’s washing up the dishes after dinner when he feels a gentle pressure against his wrist, and then an arm wraps around his waist. He tenses, for a moment, a fraction of a second. There’s still a part of him that is not yet used to this.

“Darling,” Ignis says into his ear. “After you finish, we should go wash up in the river.”

Prompto wants to say no. Washing up in the river means it's really only a matter of time before Ignis sees the gash in his shoulder, and then there will be the  _questions_. 'Cause, see. Ignis doesn't particularly care how many curatives Prompto happens to waste. No one does. The only one who is keeping score at this point is Prompto himself. 

He just so desperately does not want to be a burden.

Instead of saying this, though, he leans slightly into Ignis’ embrace and nods.

“‘Kay, Iggy.”

Ignis presses a kiss into his hair and lets him go. Prompto tries not to ache after him.

(He fails miserably.)

  
  
  
  


-☆-

  
  
  
  
  


It’s twenty minutes later when he finally manages to complete washing the dishes. He finds Ignis sitting in his chair in front of the campfire, a cup of coffee in one hand and his infamous black notebook in the other. Prompto almost doesn’t want to bother him, but before he can turn away, Ignis meets his gaze and levels a look at him.

 _Don’t even think about it_.

Prompto sighs. He knows Ignis wouldn’t force him to spend time with the other man if it wasn’t something Prompto truly wanted, so he dutifully follows behind Ignis when he raises from his seat.

“Are you going to tell me what has you so bothered?” Ignis asks once Prompto finally reaches him.

Prompto bites his lip, but knows he owes Ignis at least an explanation. Prompto learned early on in their relationship that shutting Ignis out only caused more problems. Instead of answering, Prompto wraps his hand around Ignis’ wrist, and pulls him towards the gentle song of the creek.

Just because he’s telling Ignis doesn’t mean he wants the other guys knowing. Noctis always gets a pinch between his eyebrows whenever Prompto goes even a smidge self-deprecating, and Gladio isn’t much better. The dude had bought Prompto a self-help book last time, for fuck’s sake.

 _A self-help book_.

(It was a good one, too.)

Prompto adores his friends more than anything, but the weight of their love is sometimes overwhelming.

He doesn’t realize how far they’ve walked and would’ve blazed right into the river fully clothed had Ignis not stopped him.

“Prompto,” the older man chuckles. “It’s prudent to watch where you’re going.”

He’s quietly teasing, eyes hidden behind glass glittering in the setting sun. They’ll have to be quick, like always, but the stolen moments with him are nice. Moments where he can press himself close to his boyfriend with no barriers.

“Sorry,” Prompto apologizes, cheeks blazing. “I don’t mean to worry you.”

“I know, darling,” Ignis soothes him, fingers rubbing at his wrist where it's covered by Prompto's wristband. “I am a patient man. I can wait for you to tell me what’s bothering you if you are truly not ready.”

He shakes his head.

“No, I should -- I should tell you. Um,” Prompto begins or _tries_ to. “It’s just been a bad day, Igs.”

Ignis’ gaze is even; open and understanding.

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

“It’s… one of those days. Where everything seems to go wrong and suddenly everything’s exploding out of control. The world can be so loud, Iggy.”

Ignis makes an affirmative noise, resting one of his warm hands on Prompto’s hips. Seconds later, that same hand rubs along Prompto’s ribs, dancing along the material of his vest. Prompto hesitates, for a moment, before shouldering it off. His fingers reach for the hem of his shirt within a breath, and suddenly he’s standing topless in front of his boyfriend.

There’s a part of Prompto that feels embarrassed about his body -- embarrassed about his wide, curvy hips and the obvious scars that cut across his chest. His dysphoria always mounts after he’s spent too long contemplating the stretch marks that mark his skin, so instead, he stares into Ignis’ eyes and tries not to think about everything wrong with himself.

Loving himself is a war, a constant teeth-gritting battle of ups and downs that he hasn’t even begun to conquer.

Ignis, of course, immediately hones in on the half-assed job Prompto did of patching up his shoulder. He tried his best, but his best was pretty damn dismal, admittedly. Prompto rubs a hand across his shoulder in embarrassment, letting out a sharp his when his fingers catch on the inflamed skin.

 

Ignis tuts disapprovingly.

“Prompto. When did you get injured?”

Prompto flushes, keeping his hand covering the haphazard bandage job, staring back at Ignis with wide eyes. He knows he can't hide it from him any longer; Ignis is anything but cruel, and he has a pretty low threshold for Prompto being in pain. 

 

“Uh, back with the voretooths,” Prompto admits. “One of them bit me.”

Ignis' eyes narrow.

“I did not think it managed to injure you,” Ignis says.

Prompto’s lips stretch into a thin smile.

“I was being careless, it’s no biggie, Iggy,” Prompto assures him. “It won’t happen again.”

This has the opposite effect Prompto was hoping for, and instead of looking relieved, Ignis' expression turns troubled. He gently pulls Prompto closer so he’s resting against the taller man’s chest, one of his hands creeping its way to curl into Prompto’s hair. He tries to resist for all of three seconds before he melts into his boyfriend’s embrace.

“Prompto. If you’re injured you should tell one of us,” Ignis stresses.

Prompto looks at the floor, clearing his throat.

“I didn’t want to have to waste another potion on me.”

“It isn’t a waste if it ensures you’re in the best condition possible. Those curatives are there for your use,” he reminds him. “Though, we best take care of the wound before it gets infected, hm?”

Before he knows it, Ignis is stepping away from Prompto, and in a flash of blue light, he pulls their medkit out of the armiger. They never bother with it during a fight, just directly reach in for whatever potion they need. Prompto bites his lip at the sight of it.

“It’s really not that bad, Igs.”

Ignis makes a noise.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, one can never be too cautious.”

Prompto sighs. He has a point.

“...Okay.”

Ignis smiles at him, gentle and kind, a light twitching of lips that immediately evaporates most of Prompto’s swelling anxiety. Ignis’ fingers dance across his shoulder, careful not to brush his injured skin.

“I’m going to take this ‘bandage’ off now, darling”

Prompto nods.

Ignis squeezes his biceps for a moment before his hand moves up to gently undo Prompto’s (admittedly misguided) attempt at covering the wound. When Prompto glances down, he can see the very clear chunks of teeth marks taken out of his shoulder, the skin around them puffy and red, and honestly, fucking disgusting.

He chances a glance at Ignis’ face, which is impassive. It’s hard to read his boyfriend at the best of times, but now it’s damn near impossible. He can feel the flicker of anxiety ignite in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t have hidden an injury like this from them, but Prompto’s so used to taking care of himself. It’s hard to give up the reigns and let someone else take over. Even if that person _is_ his boyfriend.

“This is well on it’s way to getting infected, Prompto. Did you clean this out?”

“No,” Prompto admits. “I was, ah. I was going to do that tonight, actually.”

Ignis hums at him, reaching for a hi-elixir. Prompto’s hand shoots out to stop him.

“Just a potion is fine, Iggy.”

His boyfriend stares coolly at the side of his face, before Prompto eventually caves, blushing brightly and averting his gaze. He supposes he can always ask to complete an extra hunt tomorrow to make up for the lost gil.

Ignis doesn’t say anything after that. There’s a ruffling noise as he takes his gloves off, presumably, and barely a second later, gentle and calloused hands are grasping his shoulder and breaking the curative on the unmarred skin of his back.

Prompto feels the warmth crawl and settle over the entirety of his skin. It still takes a few moments for the effects of the magic to leave him, and like always, he’s left feeling disoriented. He leans forward, pressing his forehead into Iggy’s shirt, and breathes in deep. He's grateful, more than he can put into words that Ignis doesn't shy away from calling him out on his bullshit.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Ignis’ hand comes up to rest in the sweaty locks of Prompto’s hair. “You’re quite welcome. You’re not a burden, darling. We have these curatives for a reason, and they’ll never be wasted if they help you.”

Prompto nods, biting his lip. He isn’t in the mood to challenge Ignis right now, mainly all he wants is to spend time curled up with his boyfriend and maybe wash his hair. He pulls away from Ignis’ embrace, grabbing his bare hands in one of his own. “Wash up with me?”

Ignis kisses the side of Prompto’s mouth.

“Of course.”

He takes a few steps, and then it’s easy enough to step out of his pants and boxers. He turns towards Ignis, watching the way his nimble, long fingers efficiently peel off his suspenders and start unbuttoning his shirt. Prompto makes a noise -- suddenly, and quite vibrantly, he wants nothing more than to be the one undressing him.

He wraps his hands around Ignis’ own, gently dropping him to his boyfriend’s side and meets Ignis’ eyes in a silent question.

Ignis’ eyes turn _fond_ and it’s as searingly devastating as it was the first time Prompto realized he looked at him like that. It’s hard to believe someone like Ignis thinks he’s deserving of it, but Prompto will spend as long as the other man lets him trying to prove himself worthy.

"Go on," Ignis encourages.

He leans up to nip at Ignis’ jaw and smiles. He continues where Ignis left off, gently brushing Ignis’ shirt from his shoulders when he's done, and his perfectly sculpted, beauty-marked chest is in full view of the waning sun. Prompto’s mouth goes dry, his palms become sweaty; he wonders if there will ever be a time when he isn’t completely floored by how beautiful Ignis always looks.

He hopes not.

Prompto shakes himself from the thought, reaching down for the clasp of Ignis’ trousers.

“So many layers,” Prompto comments, like he’s one to talk.

Ignis huffs in amusement.

“Mmm, more to protect from daemons,” Ignis retorts.

A laugh works its way out of his throat.

“Still not sure how you manage to wear all this in Lestallum, Igs,” teases Prompto.

“A balancing act, indeed.”

Prompto shakes his head, a smile stretching over his face as he pulls Ignis’ belt from the loops and drops it on his shirt. He works the button on Ignis’ pants next, dragging the zipper down. There’s something quite intimate about undressing someone, even like this, when getting down and dirty sounds the least appealing. Doing this makes Prompto feel bare like he’s giving himself completely over to Ignis each time.

It's nice, almost. Knowing you can hand yourself over to someone completely; that they'll be gentle with your all your parts.

He’s lost count of the number of times they’ve done this with each other, quietly washing up in a creek while Noctis and Gladio hang around at camp. It, admittedly, has a lot to do with why Prompto ultimately doesn’t mind not having an actual shower.

The quiet rush of the water surrounds them, welcome and calming. The sound of moving water has soothed him since he was a child, even if he didn’t get a chance to see it in person until a few months ago. He still has the cassettes he used to listen to stored away in the armiger, close enough that he can grab for them whenever he feels the need.

Once Ignis briefs and trousers join Prompto’s clothes on the ground, he leads Ignis into the water. He stops once it easily covers their waists, and turns around so they’re facing each other. Prompto wants to feel as close to him as possible.

“You’re rather quiet tonight, dear.”

Prompto smiles cheekily, looking up at him with the usual humor that seems to have escaped him tonight. “It’s ‘cause I’m admirin’ the view.”

“Oh, is that so?” Ignis asks, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“Mhmmm,” Prompto mumbles. “You’re my devastatingly attractive boyfriend, Iggy. I gotta appreciate you in all your glory.”

Ignis’ hand cups his face, warm, calloused finger stroking his skin. Prompto leans into the touch, helpless everywhere their skin connects.

“And if I were to say the same of you?” Ignis asks, voice soft.

Prompto blushes. “Iggy--”

“No. I’m not accepting any arguments about this at this time,” Ignis says, calling to the armiger with his free hand and grabbing their shared shampoo. The bright side about this road trip? Is that he is now is free to use as many ridiculously priced products as he wants -- at least until their (huge, staggering, absolutely mindblowing) stock happens to run out. “Now, if you’d let me wash your hair, darling?”

Prompto smiles.

“Go ahead, you dork.”

Ignis returns his smile. Prompto’s always thought he looks the best like that. It transforms his entire face, his ultra-serious, royal facade fading away into something more readable. Prompto thinks Ignis is beautiful all the time, pointed, straight nose, and almond-shaped emerald green eyes. But he’s _especially_ attractive like this. When he lets himself go. Prompto feels honored he's among the few who are allowed to witness it.

Ignis tenderly dips him so his hair is submerged in water, and Prompto can’t control the excited giggles that leak out of his mouth.

“Iggy!”

Ignis’ expression melts into a smirk as he pulls Prompto back upright. Prompto watches him as he pours some shampoo into the palm of his hand and works it through Prompto’s hair. Prompto tips his head forward to help, even though Ignis is a few inches taller than him. Ignis is unsurprisingly good at everything he does, and of course, hair washing is no different. He’s attentive to details and digs into all of the spots of Prompto’s scalp that makes him melt into a mushy puddle.

“How are you so good at this?” Prompto asks.

“Trade secrets,” Ignis tells him.

Prompto eyes him suspiciously.

“You’re not gonna dip me again are you?”

“Ah, it seems my attempts at being romantic have backfired,” Ignis says, solemnly.

“Not backfired so much as knocked me off my feet so thoroughly I’m not sure I can handle it a second time,” Prompto says on a grin. “There’s only so much romance I can take in a single day, babe. I’m of the fragile sort.”

“Then I suppose I’ll use the bucket. I wouldn’t want you to pass out from my affections, dear Prompto.”

Prompto nudges him with a shoulder.

“My hero,” Prompto coos, standing up on the tips of his toes to kiss at Ignis’ mouth.

He can taste Ignis’ smile.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if the ending seems abrupt, but i figured that was a pretty good place to end it. thank you so much for reading!!! i hope you enjoyed!


End file.
